I turn, bidding to see life, and whenever I doI see pain and poverty, hurt and hunger, labour and liquidation

But instead, I adore but these, infinite sensations
I like to descry a wildflower, gentle
I have never seen a flower give birth
But I have seen mothers separated from their offspring

In Spring
I like to touch the lilies and feel their coarse and supple silk
I have never seen a flower make love
But I have seen lovers hung from ropes, forgotten

In Autumn
I like to taste the rainwater left on the bracts overnight
I have never seen a flower so thirsty, it begs to die
But I have seen children ripped by a sniper’s tender bullet and sinter

In Winter
I like to listen to the soft wedding bell melodies created by the petals as they marry the grass
I have never seen snow bury a flower in cold blood
But I have seen powder detonate and deliberately rob the soul of a lover

From next Summer:
I will turn and accept life is full of these unfair stories.
I wish it weren’t like this.
But I’ve learnt these injustices harden my flower.

I cannot remember her caressing and cradling me in the dark, deep night. I cannot remember her waking up, so I can sleep, in the dark, deep night. I cannot remember her feeding me in the dark, deep night. I cannot remember her nursing me when I got sick. I cannot remember her anxiety when I fell. I cannot remember.